Healer Granger
by CeliaEquus
Summary: A curse sends Hermione back to 1973. At St. Mungo's, she meets Alastor Moody, and helps him, before leaving the hospital to avoid capture. He's determined to find her. My second Hermoody story. Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
1. Wrong Entrance

"Wrong Entrance"

The war had been over for five years, but sometimes it felt like only five days. Today was one of those days. Unfortunately, despite the fact that Voldemort had been defeated, with considerable losses to both sides, there were still rogue Death Eaters and Dark Lord supporters, and battles were being fought on an almost regular. This was part of the reason Hermione Granger found herself working at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries six days a week. It was supposed to be her day off today, but _no_. Something just _had_ to go wrong.

"Oh, shut it, Hermione," she muttered to herself as she made sure that she had her bag before Apparating from Grimmauld Place, where she still lived with the Order. "They're just doing their job to look after all of us." She was referring to the Aurors, Order of the Phoenix, and various former Hogwarts students who were hunting down the last of the Death Eaters.

She went straight to St. Mungo's. She immediately felt as though someone was watching her, and looked around. It was certainly quieter than it usually was after a small battle was fought. Maybe people were just used to it by now. Took them long enough.

Hermione shrugged, and glanced around once more. No Muggles. She looked up at the dummy in the window of the fake department store, supposedly closed for renovations, and greeted the manikin. She then stepped up and into the window.

It felt different. She couldn't have explained it if she tried. The sensation of going through the magical window seemed to take longer than usual, and funny lights went off around her. She stiffened when she thought that she heard laughter, and words that sounded like 'Repulsa aetas'; but brushed it off when she found that she was perfectly fine—and in St. Mungo's—when she emerged from the other end. With a relieved sigh, she hurried forward, seeing the utter chaos that accompanied a rogue battle. Wearing her white robes with the hospital's logo on the breast pocket, she blended in as just another medi-witch.

"Here!" someone said, thrusting a chart into her arms, and leading her over to one trolley. It was a young man—about her age—with reddish hair; but Hermione knew that it wasn't Ron. Even if it looked like him, there wasn't the screaming Lavender Brown that usually came with Ron being admitted, no matter how recent the injury. She cast a diagnostic spell, not even bothering to study the chart yet, and glanced down at his leg.

"Follow me!" she commanded to the trolley, which obediently followed her to a place where she could keep him under better observation. She missed the frown on the patient's face as she took him to a secluded room.

"My leg…" he began weakly, and she shook her head.

"I can fix that," she said, and his eyebrows shot up in amazement. With a flick of her wand, he was instead in a hospital gown. She grimaced at the sight of the leg, but knew that it could indeed be healed. More than two years ago, it would have had to be amputated. But, with a new spell that she had discovered herself, it could heal itself part of the way, and a salve need only be applied for a week for the cure to be complete. It had been too late for people like Mad-Eye Moody, who had saved her life during the 'Final Battle'. Voldemort had sent a Killing Curse her way, and Moody had blocked it with his body.

Final Battle. Ha. They hadn't anticipated the following years' troubles, had they?

She hadn't stopped crying for three days. She and Moody had become sort-of friends when planning Voldemort's demise with the Order, and she had used him as her inspiration for the healing spell and salve.

"How?" the patient asked, and she smiled at him briefly, before returning her attention to the chart. Her spells had confirmed that it was only the leg that needed work.

"Medere funditus," she said, using a flick and twirl motion over the injured part of his leg, just below the knee. As the redhead winced, she Summoned a pain relieving potion, and gave it to him. He nodded at her gratefully, and tipped the whole thing down his throat immediately. She took back the vial as he drifted out of consciousness. She nodded shortly, attached the chart to the end of the bed, and went to see if any of the salve was in stock.

* * *

"Nothing!" she all but shouted, seeing that they were completely out. With a frustrated huff, she flooed straight to the laboratory, and went to work brewing.

It took her three-quarters of an hour, and she knew that the pain relief potion would be worn off by now, or almost worn off. She bottled some of the salve, leaving the rest on Stasis so that she could return for it later. Someone else may need it, after all, and she'd hate to waste ingredients.

She returned to the room to see that her patient had woken.

"Has anyone come for me?" she asked, and he shook his head, frowning. He looked her up and down. "What's wrong?"

"You're wearing a different uniform from the other Healers," he said, tilting his head. Then his gaze snapped to her face, and she saw suspicion there. She fought the urge to roll her eyes at his obvious paranoia.

"I've brought you this," she said, and she held up the container of salve. "You won't need much of it. Just apply some to the injury each day for one week, and your leg will be cured. It won't have to be amputated."

"Never heard of that spell before," he remarked. "Or this ointment."

"Really? Fascinating. They're not known outside of the Healing profession, funnily enough."

He let out a gruff chuckle, and she smiled back at him. She handed over the potion, and he accepted it, thanking her quietly.

"So what's your name?" he asked, and he peered at her badge before she drew back. "Granger? Well, Healer Granger, you'll probably want my records?"

"This isn't your first time here?" she asked, and he shook his head. "Well, I suppose we've neither of us seen the other here before, so it's a silly question. Oh, by the way. That salve heals all scars as well. Physical scars. Afraid I can't do anything for… internal scars."

"Thanks. I'll bear that in mind."

"I'll send someone in to get your details. I'll be back soon, all right? Unless I'm needed elsewhere, in which case we'll see each other _eventually_."

"I know how hospitals work, Healer Granger."

* * *

Hermione went to the Healers' station, not noticing that it looked differently. She sent someone to get her patient's details as promised, and then flooed to the lab again, where she bottled up the rest of the salve. Once done, she returned to the station, put away the new batch of salve, and went to find out if she was needed elsewhere.

"Anyone need any help with other patients?" she asked someone else who was in a Healer's uniform.

When he turned around, she saw that he was a stranger.

"Who are you?" they both asked, and looked at each other suspiciously.

"I'm Healer Granger," Hermione said. "Who are you?"

"Healer Malkins."

Hermione had heard of Madame Malkins having had a brother in the Healing profession, and frowned. He certainly didn't work at St. Mungo's. For one thing, he had been dead for fourteen years. She looked around, and realised that nobody wore the same style of robes as her. In fact, the whole place looked as though it had been redecorated. She glanced at the calendar on the wall.

1973? That couldn't be right. It definitely couldn't be the twenty-third of February, thirty years ago.

Could it? Of course it couldn't.

"W-what's going on?" she asked quietly, and she saw several St. Mungo's workers look at her strangely. She frowned, and cast a Tempus charm.

Oh dear.

**

* * *

**

Mm-hmm. So, this is a new Hermoody story. What do you think so far? By the way, in case no one realised it, her patient was Alastor Moody. That technically isn't supposed to be made clear until the next chapter, but I'm feeling generous as I write this. And I'm listening to 'Freestyler' as I write the author note. Merlin, that takes me back to primary school…


	2. Bar Maid

"Bar Maid"

Alastor Moody was trying his best to find this Granger woman. She had completely disappeared from St. Mungo's; no one knew where she was. In fact, no one knew _who_ she was, as she wasn't registered. There was no Healer Granger in the history of St. Mungo's, or any other wizarding hospital. There were no Grangers _anywhere_. No one matching her description had ever been seen at the hospital before, and yet she had known her way around there. Even the beds had acknowledged her authority. At no point had she acted furtively.

Because she had saved his leg, Moody has insisted that they not release a warrant for her arrest yet. He wanted to find her personally, thank her, establish that she didn't pose a real threat to anyone.

Plus, she was attractive.

"Just saying," he muttered to himself.

He couldn't stay here.

He had to get out.

* * *

This waitressing job was tougher than Hermione thought it was going to be. Okay, it wasn't just waitressing. After all, the Leaky Cauldron wasn't as renowned for its food as it was for its drink. Tom, quite fortuitously, was hiring, and she signed up. He was a hell of a lot younger—thirty years younger, funnily enough—and Hermione almost hadn't recognised him.

Her duties were split between serving customers their food and cleaning the bar. Someone else cleaned the pub and the rooms upstairs. Another person again made the meals. Tom ran the place, including room bookings, and also served drinks. In return for her work, Hermione was given a place to stay, and a small pay for her labour, as she certainly didn't wont for food or drink.

The reason she found the job tougher was because, although she memorised orders like a dream, she was always nervous that she was going to drop something. The longer she went without spilling a tray, the more she feared it would happen. Tom preferred the personal touch to using magic all the time.

Hermione almost cursed him for that—literally.

After she realised that she had somehow travelled back in time three decades, she had told the St. Mungo's doctors that she had been delivering some goods to the hospital from one of their potions suppliers—for the less specialised, everyday use potions—and had donned a robe for a joke.

Fortunately, they hadn't changed their suppliers in the future, so she gave them the name Grizzly and Son, Co., which they accepted. They were less than amused by the 'prank'. However, she told them that she wanted to check the salves that she had brought, because she worried that she might have given them out-of-date potions, as there had been problems with labelling recently. She made a big show of finding that they were the wrong ones, and shrunk them all. Once that was done, she stored them in her bag, ready to dispose of them later. She got out of the hospital as quickly as she could.

Once outside, she took her hair out of its practical but unflattering bun, and hid in an alley. She magically cut her locks shorter, and changed the hue. Burning all of the remnants of hair, she Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. As wizarding money never had dates on it, she was relieved that the cash she had on her would still be good, and was able to rent a room for the night. Tom had told her about the job, she had applied, and passed because of her excellent skills of memorisation.

"You'll do fine, Miss Felix," he reassured her on her first morning. That was six weeks ago. She had yet to disappoint him. With her bright smile, and dark brown hair restrained only by a headband, Hermione won over many customers. She was free to use her first name, as no one in this time knew it… yet. It was only a matter of time before the Aurors found her.

That was why she had yet to return to St. Mungo's. They would have discovered her deception by now, and no doubt the Ministry was just waiting to catch her. Here, she was safe. There had been no 'wanted' posters released yet; she hadn't even been mentioned in _The Daily Prophet_, which was a pleasant change.

* * *

Moody knew that a trip to Diagon Alley was long overdue. He needed some new robes, after all. If the witch turned out to have no terrible, ulterior motives, then he fully intended to treat her to a meal somewhere, as a thank you for saving his leg. It had healed… magically. The Healers at St. Mungo's were at a complete loss, and almost missed this mysterious Healer Granger. She was, to them, a miracle-worker.

And Moody was determined to find her.

He didn't know many restaurants, but the Leaky Cauldron always put on a good deal. In fact, considering how many people in the wizarding world went through there, he was surprised that he hadn't thought to try there before. He was the only person who had been looking for her, wanting to be the one to discover her hiding place. Asking around at the Leaky Cauldron was a good starting place.

When he entered, Tom greeted him from where he stood at the bar.

"Alastor!" he said delightedly. "Come for a drink?"

"Yeah," Moody replied, and he sat at his favourite stool. It had the best viewpoint, taking in the whole pub with the mirror, and the rest in front of him.

"Oh," Tom said, as a traveller with luggage entered. "I'd better sort this out. I'll get our new bar maid. She'll be able to help you until then. That is, if it's just the usual."

"It is."

"Very good. Hermione? Customer at the bar!"

* * *

Hermione nodded at Tom, and finished handing over the plates to a group of customers. One of them was Lucius Malfoy, which had given her pause. As a Muggleborn, she was in great danger from Death Eaters, even if no one knew her blood status. She hurried over to the bar, put the tray down behind it, and asked for the order.

"Ogden's finest," the voice said. She pulled out a glass, and almost began to pour in the Firewhiskey. She glanced up, frowning, thinking that there was something familiar…

Her mouth dropped open when she saw who was it. She froze in fear. He wasn't looking at her, but was instead staring off into space. She snapped back to reality, and hastily poured out the right amount of alcohol. She placed the glass in front of him, and it was then he looked up at her. Their eyes met, and they stared at each other for several seconds, before Hermione looked away.

"Please don't arrest me," she whispered, and he frowned in confusion. How did she know that he was an Auror? Oh, of course. It was in his hospital details. But why did she think that he was going to arrest her?

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't haul you into the Ministry of Magic, before taking you straight to Azkaban," he said, deciding to play with the witch who had been giving him so much trouble. Damn her for being untraceable. But she was here now, and he wasn't going to let her run off without at least getting an explanation.

"Uh…" she began, fishing for a reason. She couldn't tell him that she was from the future. "Well, I… I saved your leg!" she replied indignantly, and was surprised when he chuckled.

"Which was why I wanted to find you," he said, and he raised his glass to her in a salute. She stood there, gaping, while he sculled the drink. With a sigh of satisfaction, he replaced the glass on the coaster which had automatically appeared. "I would like to take you to dinner sometime, to say 'thank you' for helping me."

"O-oh," she stuttered, flushing.

"Course, since you work here, we'd have to find somewhere else, and you'll need to let me know when you're free."

"Y-yes. All right. That sounds… that sounds wonderful. Where and when?"

**

* * *

**

Listening to classical music on the radio now, and hoping this story will be good enough, particularly for those who read and enjoyed "How Will It Turn Out?"… at least, until chapter 35. I think most forgave me with chapter 40. But I promised them some Hermoody stories with happy endings.


	3. About Dating

"About Dating"

Hermione knew of a restaurant in Flerd Alley. It was called The Flying Mouse, and wasn't overly romantic. After all, this was supposed to be a casual, thank-you dinner, not a… not a _date_, in any way whatsoever. Tom, who privately thought that Hermione needed to get out more, gladly gave her Friday night off.

"I was coping well enough before you came along," he told her, ushering her to the fireplace. She was checking with him, asking if he was _sure_ that he'd be all right without her. "First date jitters, eh?"

"D-date? No," Hermione said. It had been so long since she had been on a date, she had forgotten the 'etiquette of casual courtship', as Ginny had once put it. She worried that she might do something too… date-ish, for wont of a better word. Didn't want him to get the wrong idea.

"You've got nothing to worry about with Alastor Moody," Tom insisted, and he pushed Hermione to the fireplace. He held out the pot of floo powder. "If things get dire, I'll floo for you. The Flying Mouse, you said?" She nodded. "Right."

"Okay. Thanks for this, Tom. I know it's not my usual night off…"

"But it was a time convenient for both of you," he replied, nodding. "Go on. Go to your date… uh, your dinner. And have fun!"

"I will," she said, though she didn't feel as confident as she sounded. She threw a small handful of powder into the fireplace, and stepped in. Speaking as clearly as she could, she said, "Flerd Alley."

* * *

Moody was waiting by the entrance to The Flying Mouse. He tensed as footsteps neared him, and relaxed when he saw that they belonged to Hermione. She smiled at him. He was dressed in his usual black Aurors' robes, having come almost straight from work. He had returned home just to clean up a bit, but didn't have time to change. Hermione, on the other hands, was wearing a knee-length, pleated skirt, and a long-sleeved blouse, topped off with a black travelling cloak. The blouse was such a light pink that it almost looked white. The skirt was a dark purple, with pink and mauve embroidered flowers around the hem.

"You look good," he said, his tone more impressed than his words suggested. Her smile widened as he offered her his elbow, and took it gently. They entered the restaurant. "Booking for Moody," he told the head waiter. A younger waiter was summoned, a youth with dark hair. His name tag said 'Seth'.

"Come this way," Seth murmured to Hermione and Moody, who followed him. He led them to a table for two underneath a painting of a pair of young women picking flowers in a grassy paddock, flying birds in the background. Moody held out the chair for Hermione, who sat down with a grateful smile. Once they were both seated, Seth gave them the menus. He said that he'd return when they were ready to order, and they thanked him.

"What will you have?" Moody asked as Hermione studied the list with a furrowed brow. The frown faded as she looked up at him.

"They all look enticing," she said, and returned her attention to the menu.

"How very true," he said quietly, his gaze staying on Hermione. When her head moved up to look at him, he looked back down. "I think I'll have the risotto. Anything else might keep me awake tonight, which I don't need in my line of work. It may be a Friday night, but…"

"I think you're right," Hermione agreed. "I think I'll have the same. But I'll confess something now." She leaned towards Moody conspiratorially, and her eyes flitted left and right. Intrigued, he listened carefully as she spoke. "I… know nothing about wine." She winked at him, and he surprised her by laughing loudly at her remark.

"Neither do I," he said. "So what'll you have?"

During the meal, Seth kept coming to check up on them, and top up their Gillywaters. Each time, he tried to flirt with Hermione, who either didn't pick up on it, or just politely ignored it. Moody was exceedingly relieved when the waiter just gave up. Did they _really_ not look like they were on a date? Not that they were. It was just… interesting that it was so obvious. Or maybe the young man simply had no manners.

But, due to the far more interesting conversation, he was able to forget about all outside distractions. It was even nice to be able to forget about the war for once.

"I had a lovely night, I have to admit," Hermione said when she and Moody had returned to the Leaky Cauldron. He had insisted on 'flooing her home'. "Thank you for the meal, Mr. Moody."

"Alastor," he said. "And thank you for saving my leg. Dinner seems to be inadequate, doesn't it?"

"I… I enjoyed it, though," she said, worried that he thought that it wasn't good enough. Did she do something wrong? Moody, picking up on her worries, quickly allayed them.

"I had fun, too," he told her. "What I meant was that I owe you more than just dinner."

Hermione almost told him that the dinner was just a fine, and that she didn't need any more thanks than that. But, then again, he was one of the few people she knew in this time, and wanted to see more of him. If this was the only way…

"Well, what did you have in mind?" she asked, and he smiled at her.

* * *

Three happy, busy weeks passed.

The Monday after their date, Moody did something that he hadn't done for a number of years, and left work for lunch. Some of his co-workers nearly had heart attacks, particularly when they heard that he was going out with a woman, and not for business, either. The last few times he had gone out for lunch were with some of his male co-workers, and it was to talk about work away from the ears of the Ministry.

They had lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, so that Hermione could keep an eye on the crowds, and help Tom if need be. She had developed a system, and found that she was enjoying waitressing more than she had originally thought. Of course, since it was her job at the Leaky Cauldron that caused her to meet Moody again, that put it in an even brighter light.

The lunch on Monday was followed by dinner on Wednesday—the least busy night at the Cauldron—at a bistro in Flerd Alley. Saturday, they had lunch again, leaving Hermione just enough time to get back to work.

The following week, they didn't have time for dinner, but met up for lunch every second day of the working week, ending with a picnic on the Friday, at Hyde Park.

The third week, they had lunch every second day again, morning tea at the Leaky Cauldron on the other two days, and dinner on Wednesday night again.

Despite Hermione's 'newly-found social life', as the cleaning witch put it, she worked diligently. Part of her added enthusiasm and energy for her job was because she was in such a good mood; and part of it was to make up for all the time she was spending with Moody. Tom was so delighted with her hard work that he gave Hermione the weekend off. Using some of his accumulated holiday leave, Moody took the same weekend off, and they went to York together… staying in separate rooms, of course.

* * *

While walking along one of the city's walls, Hermione sat on one of the ledges, a leg up beside her and her camera in hand, so that she could get a good picture.

"Nice," she murmured to herself, and she waved the developing photograph to dry it. Once she was satisfied, she handed it to Moody, who tucked it away in the bag he was holding. Hermione stayed where she was for a moment, just looking out over the city, the Minster in the distance. She smiled, content. Just as she was about to move down, he spoke.

"So I've been thinking about marriage…"

"What?" Hermione nearly fell off the wall, and Moody had to leap forward and grab her by the waist and arms to stop her from toppling over the other side.

"You `right?" he asked, helping her down into his arms.

"Y-yes. Thanks. Um… w-what did you mean? About marriage?"

Moody smiled, and ran his hands down her arms before dropping them to his sides. "Well, considering the number of times we've seen each other recently—and I believe it's safe to say that they've been dates—isn't it clear that I've been courting you?"

"You… you have?"

"We get on well, and I confess to being very attracted to you," he said, and he shrugged. That's an understatement, he thought, as Hermione blushed. "Courting leads to marriage. Didn't you know that?"

"I'm a Muggleborn," she said. "I don't know anything about… about courting."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "I thought that might be the case, when I couldn't find anything on any Grangers."

"What do you mean?"

"When I was looking for you. And then you've been going by the last name 'Felix', which didn't help."

"I'm sorry," she said, and she giggled.

"So the question is," he said, leaning against the wall, "are you willing to go that far with me? You know; make the courting official, and eventually… marry?"

**

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**

Next chapter, her answer… and, you know, some more stuff. Dramatic stuff. Please review! *Grins stupidly*

**Oh, and if you think things are moving quickly, you'll get more in the next chapter, particularly from Moody's perspective. Then I think the last chapter, chapter five, is all a long conversation between them, perhaps with an epilogue-type thing at the end about what happened after that.**


	4. The Truth

"The Truth"

"Uh… yes. All right," she said, blinking rapidly. "I mean, I know I'm sure, but… don't you think it's a bit soon? Three weeks?"

"How should I know?" he asked, shrugging. "I've never courted anyone before. Obviously. T' tell the truth, I'm surprised _you're_ so sure."

"Well, I…" She couldn't tell him that she'd known him for years. She knew that she trusted Alastor Moody with her life. Heck, he'd just saved it, by stopping her from falling over that wall! Were her feelings strong enough?

But there was a problem. What if she returned to the future? She had yet to get around to investigating what she had heard when she went through the entrance to St. Mungo's.

"I know that, of all the witches I've met—and I've met plenty—you're the only one I can ever see myself marrying. And this isn't a case of you being the only one left for me to consider. I mean that I can actually see us living together, as husband and wife. Never would've thought I'd be cut out for… for domestic life. But you make me think that it wouldn't be so bad."

Okay, she thought. Not the most romantic words I've ever heard. But…

"I feel the same way," she admitted. "You're the only person I can picture spending the rest of my life with like that."

"…So it's settled then?"

"Yes."

"Good. Shall we continue?" He held out his elbow, and Hermione took it.

* * *

They ate lunch at the nearby Muggle restaurant, and talked quietly. They were returning to London that night, as they both had work tomorrow.

"We'll both be making up for lost time at work," Hermione said, disappointment in her voice. "When will we next meet?"

"The Hag and Hippogriff for lunch on Wednesday?" Moody suggested. She nodded in reply, and they returned to their respective meals. He paid the bill at the end of the night, and they returned to the hotel. They walked to their rooms slowly, savouring the rest of their holiday together before they had to separate to pack.

"It's been so kind of you to pay for so much," she said, turning to him when they reached her door. "I'll pay you back, I prom…"

"Don't," he said, and he held onto her elbows. "I've got more than enough to cover whatever you want." Her eyes widened.

"Moody, you don't have to…"

"I may not look it, but I'm well off in the Muggle world. I've just never bothered to transfer my funds to Gringotts."

"Wha… how…"

"My mother was half-blood," he said. "I'm an only child, as you know, with no family left. I'm the last of my line, in fact. So most of my money is inheritance-based, including the interest accrued on my accounts. The rest of it comes from investments, and any work I do when I take a—very short—holiday from the wizarding world." He smiled at her dumbstruck expression, and then chuckled. "You had no idea, did you?" She shook her head. "Next time we're both able to get a weekend free, I'll take you to my flat in Muggle London. Sound all right?"

"Sounds great. Wow. I really didn't know. I never knew."

"We should both pack now," he said, and she nodded. "Then later… I want to talk to you. Perhaps when we get back to London?"

"All right," she said, frowning slightly. But then she smiled at him brightly again, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. She blushed, and darted into her room, hampered only by a difficult key. Moody chuckled, making her blush even deeper, and she all but slammed the door in her embarrassment.

* * *

They Apparated to Diagon Alley that afternoon, and carted their bags to the Leaky Cauldron. Moody flooed his bag back to his flat, and then insisted upon carrying Hermione's upstairs for her. Once there, he lingered in the doorway.

"Oh, right," she said, remembering that he had wanted to talk. "Please, take a seat." He nodded, and sat at her desk, while she sat on the end of her bed. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Well, first of all," he said, "_why _is an intelligent woman—let alone talented Healer—working at the Leaky Cauldron as a waitress and bar maid?"

"I… I needed work where no one would find me," she said, looking down at her hands. "I was worried that I was going to get into trouble. You know, because I was at St. Mungo's, and technically wasn't supposed to be there."

"'Technically'?"

"Well, I… you know what I mean."

"No, I don't. That's the second thing. There's something that you're keeping from me, and I want to know what it is." Hermione didn't speak; she simply looked at him, her lower lip trembling, as she struggled not to cry. "Hermione? Assuming that's even your real name, why won't you tell me? Something happened the day we met, and I'm not just talking about the fact that you saved my leg. You may as well tell me, because I'm prepared to do anything to find…"

"I'm not from here!" she blurted out, and a single tear fell to her hand with the movement of her head. "I'm… I _should_ have been at St. Mungo's, yes. But not _then_. Not… not _now_."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Look, I went in to work at St. Mungo's one day—as per usual—and something happened when I entered the building. I think—that is, I've deduced—that I was sent back in time somehow. I… I've travelled back thirty years in time. Where I came from, it was 2003."

Moody looked disbelieving, but his Auror's 'instincts' told him that she was telling the truth. However, his logical side reasoned that there was no way for time travel to be possible; not thirty years, anyway. He was certainly privy to the existence of Time-Turners, but this wasn't one of those cases.

"In my time," Hermione said, and she brushed away the excess tears, "you saved my life. You blocked a Killing Curse that Voldemort was sending my way. You died to save me, Alastor." She leaned forward. "I cried non-stop for three days. _Three days_. I knew you then, and I know you even better now. Please. Say something. Alastor?" He raised his head, and their gazes locked.

"Were you planning to keep this from me forever?" he asked quietly. She shook her head.

"I would have told you eventually."

"When?"

"I… I don't know…"

"Then how can you possibly be sure that you would have told me?" he asked, launching himself to his feet. "Have you lied to me about other things?"

"Please, Alastor. Try to see things my way…"

"How? Tell me how."

"I was scared!" she cried. "I didn't know anything; I didn't know anyone! You were supposed to be dead. I'm not even supposed to be born yet. I found myself in an unfamiliar time. I thought I was going to be arrested; thrown into Azkaban, perhaps thrown into the nuthouse wing of St. Mungo's!" Ordinarily Hermione wouldn't be so disrespectful; but she was more than somewhat agitated at the moment, and couldn't be bothered to check what she was saying. "Please try to understand, Alastor. I was frightened. And then I found a place where I was safe. And then… and then _you_ came home. Someone I knew, someone I respected. Someone I _liked_." He raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms. "It's true! And you've been making me feel things. And I don't want to lose that."

"I… I have to think about this," he said quietly, and he Apparated away without another word.

"Alastor," she whispered, and she buried her face in her pillow.

* * *

One month later, and they still hadn't contacted each other. Hermione had lost her spark at work, and had to force herself to appear happy. She didn't want to lose her job; it was her only one here, after all. Tom, as well as Hermione's other co-workers, weren't the only ones to notice the difference. The regulars also commented on it, and Tom finally asked Hermione what was wrong with her.

"Nothing," she told him, her voice and expression neutral; but her eyes betrayed her.

"Hermione Felix, there's something wrong, and you have to tell me," Tom said. If it had been anyone else, Hermione might have hexed them; but Tom had always been gentle and kind to her.

"I… I've realised that I've fallen… fallen in l-love," she said, her voice breaking. She inhaled unsteadily. "But it won't work out. I can't tell you why, but it… it won't."

"Maybe you should take a holiday somewhere," Tom suggested. She nodded. "Tell you what. Go to Oxford. I've got a sister there. If you'll excuse the liberty, I've already sounded her out about it. She's got a place in the wizarding community there. In fact, she's already set up the guest room for you."

"It sounds perfect, Tom," she whispered. "Thank you."

* * *

Moody turned up at the Leaky Cauldron. He tried to kid himself that he needed a drink; but it was a poor excuse. His eyes swept the pub when he entered, and he sat at the counter after seeing that Hermione wasn't there. It had been four weeks, three days, twenty-two hours and fourteen minutes since he last saw her.

"Tom," he said when the barkeeper came over to him. He frowned at the Auror. "The usual. Thanks."

"Are you the reason… no, never mind," he said, and he poured out the glass of Firewhiskey. Moody looked around casually, dropping the money onto the shiny surface of the bar.

"Where's Herm… Miss Felix?" he asked as he picked up his drink.

"Gone," Tom said bluntly, and Moody dropped his glass. The pub owner magically mended the glass, and then made the alcohol disappear. He raised his eyebrows at the usually cool Auror.

"Gone," Moody echoed, staring off into space. Then his attention snapped to Tom. "Where? When?"

"She only just left yesterday," he replied, non-committal in his answer. Moody growled.

"Where has she gone? Why did she leave?"

"Somehow, I think you'll be able to answer that yourself," Tom said, drawing himself up. "Are you going to buy another drink, or…"

"No," Moody said, standing. "I'm going to draw her out of hiding."

"How?"

But Moody had already Apparated to the Ministry of Magic. He stormed up the Auror office, and immediately issued an arrest warrant for Hermione Felix, age 23, last seen at The Leaky Cauldron, wanted for questioning by Auror Moody.

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Whoa. Extreme, right? But I figure that it's such an Alastor Moody thing to do. Next chapter is the last one. Looking forward to it? I hope so. And yet… I hope not. Do I prefer you to be excited about this story; or do I dread that you just want to see the back of it? Hmm…


	5. Suspect Interview

"Suspect Interview"

She couldn't believe it. An arrest warrant. A sodding arrest warrant. Issued the day she left London for Oxford. Just _what_ was Alastor Moody playing at?

Hermione slammed the _Prophet_ shut, growling. She looked around, hoping that no one would actually turn her in. Tom's sister was sitting across from her at the little café table, reading her own copy of the newspaper. Moments later, her eyes widened, and she looked up at Hermione.

"Wha…"

"Don't ask."

"But…"

"I've no idea, Amanda."

"He's the reason you're here," the older woman said, looking at Hermione carefully. Their age difference was thirty-five years between them, but they had got on well from the word go, when Hermione turned up in the Knight Bus, having bribed Stan and Ernie not to tell anyone where they had taken her. What would they think now?

"Yes," Hermione admitted. "I fell in love with him, but we had an argument. And now he's… I mean, isn't this just drastic?" she asked, throwing the paper onto the table in disbelief.

"Yes," Amanda said, suppressing a grin. Arrest was no laughing manner, certainly; but the young woman's reaction was amusing. And this was definitely an… unusual way of finding your girlfriend. She could see why Hermione would be perfect for Alastor Moody, and knew that this was just the kind of thing he'd do.

"That's her!" someone shouted, and Hermione turned, her eyes widening immediately. Suddenly, she found herself bound. Amanda leapt to her feet, trying to intervene; but Hermione was taken away in the blink of an eye.

* * *

The room was stark. One table, two chairs. One door, two people. Hermione was magically tied to one of the seats. The only other person in the room was the arresting Auror. Apparently, Stan had told the Auror department that he and Ernie had taken her to Oxford's wizarding village, and thought that she was a dangerous criminal. Therefore just doing his civic duty.

She sighed, unable to sink lower in the seat due to the tight ropes holding her up. A loud, familiar voice was heard outside, and she felt her anger flare up.

If she had been blind, deaf, and dumb, she still would have known the moment he entered the room. A shiver ran up and down her spine, and her breathing slowed.

"You can leave us," Moody told the arresting Auror quietly. Hermione heard footsteps retreating, and the door close.

And then _he_ sat in front of her.

"Hello, Hermione."

"You _dare_ have the audacity to use my name!" she hissed, recovering her fury. "How could you pull such a stunt, Alastor?"

"'Alastor', is it?"

"Don't you dare turn this on me! You had me _arrested_. Branded me a _criminal_."

"I only wanted you for questioning," he said calmly. "About the day you arrived at St. Mungo's. You attended to me while I was a patient, and yet you're not a healer there."

"You know full well what I told you," she replied, scowl still in place. "How could you do this to me? Did you know that they threatened me with Azkaban?" Tears welled up in her eyes, as Moody's expression grew dark. "Look. I travelled back in time. There was some kind of curse put on the entrance to St. Mungo's in the twenty-first century, where I come from. It sent me back thirty years. I did no harm; in fact, the opposite. In my time you had a wooden leg, damn it! And I've prevented that. And _this_ is how you repay me?"

"They threatened to take you to Azkaban?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

She stared at him. "You haven't been listening?" A sigh. "Yes. They said that if I misbehaved, or put up any kind of fight, they'd take me straight to Azkaban and throw me into a holding cell there."

"They had no right; no authority." Hermione jumped when he slammed his hand on the table. It sounded painful, but either it sounded worse than it was, or Moody was too distracted to notice. Just as suddenly, he leant forward. "Are you all right? Did they hurt you? I _did_ only say that I wanted you for questioning. I guess they thought that, considering it was me, it was probably more sinister than it appeared. I'm so sorry." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'll take them to task about this, I promise." The hard look was back in his eyes. "Stay here."

"What choice do I have?" she muttered as he left the room.

* * *

Some minutes later, Moody returned.

"They send their apologies," he said, resuming his seat across from her.

"Why didn't they come themselves?"

"Because they're… indisposed."

"What? How?"

"They're in St. Mungo's," he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Her eyebrows shot up.

"What did you do?" she whispered.

"I? Who says that I did anything? Now…"

"Do I have to stay here?" Hermione asked, nervous. Moody blinked; and, for a moment, she thought that he looked hurt. But it passed.

"Well, I did question you, even thought I didn't take it all in," he said, the last part of the sentence so quiet that Hermione almost missed it. "Yes. You may go."

"W-what?"

"I said," and he stood as he raised his voice, "you may go, Miss Felix." He waved his wand, and the ropes disappeared. "Go on." She was frozen in her seat. "Go!" he shouted, and she shot out of the chair, knocking it to the floor. She ran from the room, and he sighed.

"Idiot," he said to himself. "What have you done?" He pulled out the box with the ring in it that he was going to give her. He'd bought it in Diagon Alley's jewellery shop this morning as soon as he'd heard that they knew where she was. The last two weeks, he'd had his eye on it, wishing that he could have had a chance to get it for her. Now he'd had her so close, only to let her go.

No, he thought. I didn't let her go. I made her run away from me.

"I can't lose her," he said decisively. He looked up, pushing his hands away from the table, and ran out the door as well.

* * *

Hermione reached the Atrium in record time. She took a breather at the fountain, glaring at the statues of the witch and wizard being looked at adoringly by 'lesser' creatures. She growled at the sight, and the memories it brought back. Memories of Voldemort finally being defeated, at the cost of a great many lives, when he was thrown into the water by the spell Hermione was able to use when Moody distracted him by saving her. Once the evil wizard was in the water, she, Harry, Ron, and many others all used a spell which created an electrical charge. They used it on the water in the fountain, and Voldemort was electrocuted.

Ironic way for him to die, really. A Muggle death. But it had been effective. _Very _effective.

Her shoulders slumped, needing the movement after having been strapped up for so long. She stood shakily, and made her way over to the Apparation point, never noticing that she was being followed. She thought that her 'Moody tingle' was just a result of their final confrontation.

* * *

Moody was relieved to see that Hermione was sitting at the fountain. She hadn't gone yet. He was using a Disillusionment Charm—one of his specialties—so that she wouldn't see him approach. When she stood, he was only a few feet away from her. As soon as she was at the Apparation point, he took a gentle hold of her sleeve, glad that it was loose material, not clinging to her skin. He surrendered himself to the Side-Along Apparation, and found himself in her rooms at the Leaky Cauldron.

She left, presumably to tell Tom that she had returned, and he took the opportunity to remove the charm, and sit at her dressing table, straddling the chair so that he was facing away from the mirror. He wanted to see her face when she entered the room and saw him there.

He wasn't disappointed.

First, her eyes widened, followed by her jaw dropping. She closed and opened her mouth a few times, before stopping the movements by biting her lower lip. His gaze lingered there for a moment, before returning to her eyes.

"Hello again," he said. "I… I'm sorry I shouted at you." She didn't answer for a number of seconds; but he let out the breath he was holding when she did.

"I forgive you," she said, noticing the long exhale. "Is that why you're here? Did you… did you follow me?"

"I came with you," he said.

"Oh. I should have noticed. How careless of me."

He noted the dull tone. "Hermione, it's all very well for you to forgive me for that; but I wonder if it's possible for you to forgive me for how I behaved when you told me who you really where, and where you were from?"

"I forgive you for that, too," she said. "After all, I was at fault, too."

"I would have contacted you, but…"

"But what?"

"Well, I went to the Hag and Hippogriff on the Wednesday, just as we had planned," he began. "Yes, I got over it that quickly," he added at her look of surprise. "I waited, but you never showed up. It was then that I realised you wouldn't want anything more to do with me, so I left you alone."

"Oh," she said quietly, clutching at her trembling arms. She hated how his very presence, never mind his words, was affecting her.

"But I couldn't do that anymore," he said. He let out a bark of laughter as he stood. "I cracked after four weeks. That's never happened to me before." He knelt before her, pulling out the ring box. He opened it, and held it out to her. "Which is why I want you to marry me. Soon, preferably. Now, if it was possible. So, will you marry me, Hermione?"

She didn't say anything. Not liking the silence, he filled the gap with more words. "You make me do things I wouldn't usually do. Brought out another side of me, one that I'd buried away." He continued to look at her hopefully. Only once had her eyes flitted away from his face, and that was when he produced the ring in its velvet-covered, satin-lined box.

"Then you were gone," he said. "You were gone when I finally went to the Leaky Cauldron. I tried to tell myself that I was there for a drink. I wasn't. It was then that I realised… I realised that I'm in love with you. It hit me when Tom told me that you were gone. Having you arrested was the only thing I could think of to do!" He was getting agitated by her continued silence. "And then those idiot colleagues of mine didn't even do their jobs properly, instead scaring the woman I want to marry!" He forced himself to calm down, not wanting to frighten her yet again. "Please, Hermione. Please marry me." He held the box closer to her.

Still the silence continued, with only one marked difference:

She nodded.

Moody slowly stood. Maintaining eye contact the entire time, he pulled the ring out, and slid it onto Hermione's ring finger. He raised her hand, and kissed it, never breaking the gaze that held him. He pulled his lips away from her skin slowly, but could resist the temptation no longer. Keeping a gentle hold, he used her hand to pull her into his embrace, and then lowered his lips to hers for their first kiss.

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OBITUARY

_Yesterday evening, Alastor and Hermione Moody, both aged 149, died of heart failure after a marriage of 125 years. They married when they were both 24 years old, one week after the famous defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Both were key players in the Final Battle, being part of the team who destroyed the evil wizard in a showdown at the Ministry of Magic._

_The famous moment of death by electrocution in the fountain is notorious for the triumphant battle cry that Mrs. Moody let out when the statues in the fountain were destroyed by the force of the joint spell. The relationship was made known when she and Mr. Moody kissed in front of everyone else in the Atrium._

_Their five children, eight grandchildren, nineteen great-grandchildren, and twenty-six great-great-grandchildren are holding the funeral service in Oxford, where Mr. and Mrs. Moody lived in the Muggle community, on the elegant Felix Estate, named for Mrs. Moody._

_Mr. Moody's former colleagues from the Auror department, and Mrs. Moody's former colleagues from the Leaky Cauldron, and later Moody's Magical Manuscripts, the line of bookshops started by Mrs. Moody, are invited to the funeral service. Flowers are optional._

THE END

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So what did you all think? I wanted to end on the kiss, but I felt that it wouldn't satisfy you, my readers, so decided to give them an obituary. I warn you: I'm doing this (or perhaps something similar) for another story of mine, as I don't want to draw either of them out, particularly as I've next to no life experience, and certainly not when it comes to having children.

***Shudders at the thought of unleashing mothering skills on the world***

**Review! Review! Review!**


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